


Rebirth

by Sarunamii



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Redemption, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 17:30:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21395965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarunamii/pseuds/Sarunamii
Summary: The numbing shock of Garrett's death and the all-consuming depression that followed were finally beginning to fade, leaving Grant an empty shell.  "Who are you without him?"  Is it possible for a ruin to live again or is Grant doomed for failure?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

> The is implied rape and there is torture. Read at your own risk.
> 
> Set after season 1.

The numbing shock of Garrett’s death and the all-consuming depression that followed were finally beginning to fade, leaving Grant an empty shell. Where there once was man, now there was only a hollow ruin. Vainly, he attempted to start piecing himself back together, but Coulson’s last question still rang clear in his mind, haunting him, “Who are you without him?” He still had no answer. Or maybe he did – he was nothing. Without Garrett, Grant was meaningless. He owed John everything and had ultimately failed him in the end. John Garrett was dead, and Grant would spend the rest of his bleak days locked up. It was a punishment he undeniably deserved. If only he had been better…if only he had been good enough…

He observed the plate of cooling food waiting him. Grant knew he should eat, but he had no appetite. Why bother? Instead he lay back on his hard cot and rolled over to face the drab wall. After the last attempt, he wouldn’t try to end his life again, but there seemed little point to continuing it. The psychiatrist would come later to half-heartedly scold him, but that man didn’t care, not really. His act was almost convincing at times, but even the most gullible child would have been able to see through it. Occasionally, Grant would find the willpower to force himself to eat, but it seemed less and less important. No one else cared, so why should he? He was worthless – just a broken, unwanted toy, tossed away to the back of a child’s closet to be forgotten about.

Time lost all meaning. The only person he ever saw, other than the grim-faced guard bringing his food, was the psychiatrist, who seemed content to do only what was required and nothing more. He didn’t care about Grant’s mental health or recovery any more than Grant or anyone else did. The man would ask his textbook questions, Grant would ignore him, staring blankly across the room, and the session would end. Even these impersonal meetings were dwindling down until Grant couldn’t remember the last time the doctor had come by. It didn’t matter anyway – Grant was simply a corpse that went on breathing, not realizing that the ghost had long shriveled up and died.

*****

Had he any energy for it, Grant would have been surprised when he heard the familiar voice raised in anger from the hallway outside his solemn cell. The door slammed open and the psychiatrist followed Coulson in, still heatedly arguing his point. From where he was seated on the cot, Grant could see May standing stoically in the hall, arms crossed and eyes cold. A cold fire burned in her eyes when she caught him looking her way. Maybe she would come in and finally finish what she started and just kill what was left of Grant.

“Shut up!” Coulson harshly cut the psychiatrist off, leaving a silent void in the aftermath of all the angry words. The new S.H.E.I.L.D. director then turned towards Grant and carefully surveyed the idle man. The psychiatrist stood sullenly just behind him, clearly wanting to say more, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Only the barrier between Grant and his unexpected guests hummed quietly in the silence. Finally, the older agent broke the silence, “When was the last time you ate anything?”

His voice almost sounded gentle. Grant shook himself inwardly, there was no way Coulson was feeling compassion for him. They must need something from him, but how his eating habits helped them get whatever that something was from Grant, was beyond his addled brain power. “…yesterday…?” with a faint shrug.

Looking at the full plate of food left abandoned, Coulson pointed at it and simply commanded, “Eat.”

Sluggishly, Grant got up and retrieved the plate of now cold food. His former superior officer seemed content to wait and watch him eat, so mechanically he took a small bite. And then a second bite followed by another. He didn’t understand this new game. What was Coulson’s motive? Were they afraid that if he died too soon he wouldn’t suffer enough for his crimes? Grant knew he deserved to suffer, but even so he had to force himself to continue eating. He would have continued too, even with his stomach threatening to start its own rebellion, but again Coulson spoke up, “Don’t overdo it.”

Throughout this the psychiatrist was getting visibly impatient, but one stern look from May kept his mouth shut and his feet in place. Only once Grant had set aside the half-eaten meal did Coulson finally turn to the aggravated man, “What is your job here?”

His mouth flapping soundless the psychiatrist took an apprehensive step back before jabbing his finger angrily in Grant’s direction, “This man is not an agent! My job is to take care of the mental health of all the agents here. This man is a backstabbing, traitorous –”

“Wrong,” Coulson cut him off. “Your job was to take care of the mental health of everyone on this base, agent or not. If the task was too much for you, you should have reported that.” When he received no answer Coulson kept going, “Did you even try with him? Or did you have your mind made up before you even walked thru that door the first time?”

The psychiatrist glared back in self-righteous indignation. “I don’t have to take this,” he declared. “I quit!”

“Agent May will escort you out.”

The psychiatrist gapped staring at the director, who had already turned his attention away, before finally turning on his heel and leaving. He looked almost surprised at how easily his resignation was accepted, while May sent an unreadable look to Coulson and followed the fuming man away. Grant watched the exchange with suspicion. Why would his mental health matter Coulson? It didn’t make sense. The psychiatrist was right, Grant was a traitor. He shouldn’t matter to any of them. He tried to remember the man’s name, if he ever knew it in the first place as he broke the silence, voice rough from lack of use, “He’s right. You shouldn’t be bothering with me.”

For a moment Grant thought Coulson wasn’t going to reply, but then the older man quietly responded, “But then we’d be no better than Hydra.”

Grant eyed Coulson warily, he didn’t understand the answer. How did leaving an enemy to rot in a prison cell even compare to the hostile takeover that Hydra had attempted? “What do you want from me?” He caught himself almost holding his breath in anticipation, but he couldn’t allow himself hope. He didn’t deserve it. He shouldn’t have even been encouraging the conversation with Coulson to continue.

“Only to know why.”

There had to be more to it than that. Against his better judgment Grant heard himself answering, “I owe Garrett everything.” He winced, catching his mistake at the present tense, but didn’t bother to correct himself. He tried to battle down that desperate part of him that wanted his former team to understand…but if they understood they would still reject him. They would see how he had failed the one man that had saved him. How could he do any better for them? Grant couldn’t force his eyes away from Coulson, frantically searching for the slightest hint that the other man understood, like a drowning man who had caught sight of the shore. He could hardly contain his disappointment when he found none.

Coulson’s expression betrayed nothing of his inner thoughts or feelings, he only calmly asked, “Even your soul?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “I don’t want to be told you’re starving yourself again. When they bring the food, eat – just until you’re not hungry. And you will get up and move around for at least one hour every day.”

Despite his efforts, disbelief crept into Grant’s expression, “Why bother?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question at all, but now that it was out, the answer seemed more important than anything before. Inwardly, he chastised himself for his weakness. It was why he had failed Garrett, why he had failed the team, why he was locked away for the rest of his life.

The look Coulson returned was almost sad, pitying. Grant couldn’t understand it – there shouldn’t being any pity in the S.H.E.I.L.D. agent for him. The director opened his mouth to speak when a shouting voice cut him off. Grant couldn’t see who stopped just outside the door, but Coulson hurried out and the urgent whispers were cut off by the slamming door. Silence reigned once more.

*****

Grant didn’t know why he obeyed Coulson’s orders, but every day he would robotically exercise, and when the food tray was brought to him, he’d eat just enough. He was still afloat in his calm world of detachment, not caring about anything happening around him. When they came seeking whatever information he had on Hydra, he merely continued gazing expressionlessly just past them. With Garrett dead, he didn’t know why he clung so stubbornly to his secrets, but nevertheless he continually refused to speak.

On the occasions Coulson would come by trying to pry more into Grant’s reasoning for his betrayal, he would simply turn away from the older agent and act like he was still alone in his cell until the other man would eventually give up and leave. Coulson never saw the regretful expression that would always follow him out. It was in one of these moments that he caught sight of her, silently watching him just outside the door.

As soon as their eyes met, Grant immediately dropped his gaze to the floor and turned away from them. Instead of hearing the customary shutting of the door, a soft pair of footsteps made their way towards him. There was silence.

“Look at me,” Skye ordered. There was anger and an iron in her voice that hadn’t been there before. Slowly, Grant lifted his eyes back to her face. There was no more warmth there for him, only hot anger. She clenched her teeth, and just glared. For just a moment she looked like she would say more, but instead she turned on her heels and marched from the room. The door slammed shut firmly behind her. That day the effort to eat was almost too much for him, but Grant choked down a few bites before setting the food aside.

From that point on Grant became aware of her waiting for Coulson in the hall. She never came in again and he would only glimpse fleeting traces of her, but knowing she was there was enough for him to feel the old stirrings of longing for forgiveness. He tried to squash the feelings, telling himself he didn’t deserve forgiveness, but they persisted. He even caught himself a time or two starting to acknowledge Coulson, almost ready to layout all his reasoning for the agent. Instead, he would shake himself inwardly and go back to staring at the wall blankly.

Just as with the psychiatrist, the visits became shorter and less often, until the day Grant’s solitude came to a violent halt. The door to his little prison cell exploded open. Boots crunched over the settling debris, and Grant sat up warily watching the soldiers walk up to the barrier still separating them from him. The commander looked him over while the others searched the room.

“Here it is, sir,” one soldier called picking up the fallen tablet from the floor. He wiped the dust from the screen and with a few clicks the barrier flickered and the hum fell silent. The commander motioned his men forward and Grant was deftly pulled to his feet. Instinctively, he tensed as the hands closed on his arms, but still didn’t struggle against them. It didn’t matter where they were taking him or what plans they had for him. Nothing mattered. Garrett was dead.

His hands were cuffed behind his back and Grant was led from the building past the evidence of violent battle. Bullet holes littered the walls and lights flickered overhead. A deathly silence had settled over the base and even Grant couldn’t stop himself from wondering about the fate of his former team. Were their bodies lying among the other fallen S.H.E.I.L.D. agents? Or had they escaped to safety?

The soldiers didn’t say anything to Grant as he was loaded into the SUV. There was a scuffle and shouting. He recognized Skye’s angry tones but couldn’t make out any of her words. Her shouts were cut off abruptly. The slamming of another car door had Grant assuming she had been loaded in one of the other SUVs. He couldn’t tell if they took any other prisoners.

They drove through the night, only stopping once to pick up additional passengers. Grant’s heart stopped cold when he saw the smiling face of the man that joined him in the SUV. At first, he thought he was hallucinating, but then Garrett spoke, “Hello, Grant.”

“Garrett?” Grant’s voice was barely a whisper. Was this his second chance? He knew he would be punished for failing Garrett, but punishment he would survive as long as he had the opportunity to redeem himself. He wouldn’t fail again. But then he remembered Skye. He owed Garrett everything, but could he really work against Skye a second time? And then there was Coulson. There was something about his last interactions with the man. Grant was weak. Could he really be any stronger this time around?

*****

Garrett motioned the driver to move on grinning even more as he watched how Grant’s eyes clung to his face desperately. The unkempt younger man looked almost starved, like a dead man just barely alive. He let the silence stew. He knew Grant wouldn’t speak until allowed. The recent trauma was too much. The younger man was still reeling, trying to recover from the foundation of his world falling apart beneath him. And then he had had to face the consequences of his betrayal of the team he had allowed himself to grow attached to. And now, while he was still broken, the world he thought dead was smiling in his face. It wouldn’t take much more to break him down completely.

It was too bad they had only captured one of Grant’s former team, but of all of them at least it was the hacker. She would be the most useful to Garrett in remaking his protégé without the weaknesses. He had been too easy on the boy before. This time he would forge Grant into the perfect weapon and then Garrett would use the serum on him, and he would become better than perfect.

His eyes still clung to Garrett’s face when they arrived at the docks three hours later, but Grant had managed to gain a semblance of control over his emotions. The mask he wore now was like a fragile thin veil compared to the one he used to keep firmly in place. The cool indifference he tried to feign was belied by the tension in his muscles.

His bare feet slapped against the cold pavement as he was led from the SUV towards a nondescript warehouse. He heard Skye’s angry resistance behind him and Garrett’s arrogant laughter at something she had said. Inside the warehouse Grant was steered just off to the right of the door. There he was stripped and hosed down. One of the guards stepped towards him with a detector and clinically scanned him from head to toe. He ignored Skye’s horrified presence and merely stood there shivering as the cold water dripped down him waiting for them to be done. When the guard was content his search had yielded nothing, he stepped away and a pair of pants were thrust into his recently freed hands. Grant did as was expected and quickly dressed.

Skye was not provided with the same treatment. She received a thorough pat down and a scan from the detector and declared clean. Once this was complete Garrett led the way further into the warehouse and down a concealed staircase to an underwater docking station. From there they boarded a small submarine. It was about the size of a large van. There were two seats at the front where the vessel was controlled from facing a large front window. Garrett positioned himself standing directly behind the driver’s seat as Grant was seated on the floor across from him. Two more men stood against the wall beside Garrett as Skye and her guard took the wall beside Grant. The other soldiers closed the back hatch and went to board the other submarines docked there.

Skye jerked her arm away from her guard and plopped down next to Grant. She glared at Garrett, “So, you didn’t stay dead.”

Garrett eyed her, the amusement clear to be seen, “I’m beyond that now.”

“Uh, huh,” the look she shot back indicated she obviously thought he was crazy. Skye looked at Grant still shivering beside her. “If you don’t do something your toy soldier may die in your place from hypothermia.”

“He’ll live.”

But Skye persisted, “Seriously? He was loyal to you even after your death. After all he’s done for you, aren’t you even a little concerned for his health?”

This time Grant answered her, his voice quiet, “I failed.”

“What? Seriously?” Skye’s disbelief surprised Grant. He thought she would be happy to see him punished. So why did she sound so angry at the idea?

“I was weak.”

Garrett smiled down at Grant’s dejected form. “You are, but don’t worry,” he assured almost gently, “We’ll purge that weakness from you yet.”

Grant flinched nearly imperceptibly, but continued to stare down at his lap, while Skye aimed an unbelieving look at both men. It was no wonder Grant was as messed up as he was. She looked ready to say more, but one of the soldiers called Garrett’s attention to a screen on the dash. He reached over and keyed something in and the ocean floor in front of them lit up. They could now see the large doors on the camouflaged structure sliding open. One by one the submarines entered the tunnel and followed it first straight and then up into the manmade sea cave.

As they exited the submarines into the drafty room, Grant wished they had given him a shirt also. Although he had finally quit shivering, he wondered if Skye might be right, that he would end up with hypothermia. Most of the soldiers departing the submarines went through the door on the left down the brightly lit hallway. A few stayed behind to run the routine docking checks.

Garrett motioned over a pair of soldiers that looked like they would fit in the “all brawn no brain” category. When they got closer and Grant saw the hungry look in their eyes, he almost resisted despite himself. Instead he steeled himself as they each grabbed an arm and led him through the door on the right down the gloomy hallway.

“Where are they taking him?” Skye demanded struggling against the grip on her own arms.

Garrett called after them, “Take your time boys.” And the doors swung shut behind them.

*****

“Grant,” the voice was muffled calling to him from a seemingly long distance away. A hand patting his cheek and the rushing in his ears faded. The right side of his face was pressed against the cold floor and a thick liquid was oozing down his cheek. His hair matted, and face swollen, Grant blinked at the blurry man above him. “Grant,” Garrett’s obscene smile loomed over him. “Rise and shine.”

The answer was a choked grunt. It took Grant a moment to realize that was from his own throat. It must have been answer enough because Garrett’s grin widened and he was pulled into a sitting position, a friendly arm wrapped around his throbbing shoulders. His head swam and pain radiated from every fiber of his being.

“…a job for you,” he struggled to focus on Garrett’s words. “A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is just through those doors. They’ve come for you again. They want to keep you weak – to use you as a scapegoat like your brother did. I need you to cross off the agent, or more will follow.”

Grant forced himself to his feet and staggered to the indicated door. Belatedly he realized he left the gun Garrett had been offering, but when he turned to retrieve it, there Garrett was holding the handle out to him. The comforting weight of the gun in his hand steadied him and he pushed himself through the door.

“Grant,” there was sharp intake of breath. “What have they done to you?”

He raised the gun and pulled back the safety, but her eyes caught his. They stood there for an eternity facing each other, neither daring to breathe.

“It’s not a weakness, is it?” Garrett asked from behind him.

Grant clenched his teeth together steading his arm.

“Don’t do this,” Skye’s voice pleaded from in front of him.

Grant was frozen. His chest throbbed and his hand shook, but his eyes stayed locked on hers.

“She’ll just use you and throw you away, just like your family did, just like your brother did,” Garrett insisted his breath hot against the back of Grant’s neck. “It’s not too late, I can still make you stronger. No one will ever mess with you again, but you have to pull the trigger.”

“Don’t listen to him. You don’t have to do this, Grant,” Skye took a cautious step towards him, the chains connecting her wrists to the wall behind her clinking softly.

Both voices swirled around Grant, pulling him in opposite directions. He owed Garrett everything, but Skye…how could he possibly shoot her. Her brown, hopeful eyes said more than her words ever could. Faith, hope…in him. “I’m sorry,” Grant whispered and dropped his hand. He turned to Garrett and offered him the gun back, “I can’t…I’m sorry. I – I can’t…”

Garrett’s expression darkened for a moment as he took the offered gun, but then he rested a reassuring hand on Grant’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, we have time.” Skye was yelling loudly in the background, pulling roughly against her restraints as the older man led him back out the door they came in through. Once more, Garrett left Grant in the care of the two burly soldiers. They took great pride in their work.

Everyday Garrett would return and give Grant the chance to destroy his weakness and each time he failed he would spend more time with the two soldiers. Their torture methods grew more and more creatively sadistic, but still Skye lived. Garrett was growing impatient. He doubted letting them torture her to death in front of Grant would have the same effect that Grant killing her himself would, but the longer it took, the more and more tempted Garrett was. Perhaps the team he had just sent out would manage to capture another one of Grant’s former teammates. Why did the boy have to be so stubborn in this weakness?

*****

Grant was leaning heavily against the wall, his eyes glazed, with Garrett whispering encouragements from behind him. Skye didn’t think he’d be able to hold out much longer. The week that had passed felt much longer. He hardly looked human, with his skin bruise after bruise, one eye swollen shut, and his ribs jutting out painfully. How he was even still standing was beyond her. One leg was obviously broken in at least two places and the other seemed to barely hold his weight.

Most days she could hear his screams as if there were no walls separating them. She had long quit pleading with him to spare her, but almost wished he would pull the trigger if only so they would leave him alone. She knew, however, that her death wouldn’t end his torture – it would only allow Garrett to move on to the next step.

Instead of taking the offered gun from Garrett, Grant leaned over and puked on the floor. There wasn’t much for him to throw up, but that didn’t keep his body from trying. He was the epitome of misery. Skye was horrified at the amount of red she could see in the vomit. She wanted to go to him, but the ever-present chains stopped her. Gently, Garrett squeezed his shoulder, constantly murmuring quiet reassurances and when he quit throwing up, Garrett guided him carefully from the room. A trail of red blood smeared across the floor marked the short path they had taken.

There were no screams that day or the next or the next. The silence was almost worse.

In those few days, Skye only saw the man that brought her food. He never spoke to her, just came in, thrust the bowl at her, collected the old empty one, and left. Her worry for her former SO was overriding the anger she still harbored for his betrayal. Even he shouldn’t have to endure days – weeks of torture. She was starting to think Garrett might deserve it though. If she could have, she would have happily taken the gun herself and “popped a cap” in Garrett. Eying the still present blood stains she decided he could definitely do with some suffering.

Skye paced angrily, jerking at the restraints as she cursed them under her breath. She had seen no evidence of Grant since he threw up. Had they finally gone too far and killed him? At least if he was dead, he’d be out of his misery. Skye shuddered at the thought and continued her pacing. If he had died, what would they do with her? After all, she was only here so Grant could “purge his weakness” as Garrett put it.

And then it all happened at once. A choked cry from the adjacent room they kept Grant in, just loud enough for her to hear, immediately followed by the hallway door slamming open. There stood Skye’s team, a welcome sight for her desperate eyes.

“Help him!” Skye exclaimed, urging them towards the pathetic cries. May was in action before the others even had time to blink. The separating door was shattered and the startled yelps from unfamiliar voices were cut off almost before the dust had settled. Skye hadn’t realized she was pulling on the chains until Coulson coaxed her back so he could free her hands. Trip started after May, although, at that point, he wasn’t sure she needed any help from him.

“Are you alright?” Coulson asked Skye as the restraints fell away, clattering on the ground.

“Yeah, they didn’t touch me,” Skye nodded. They could hear the sound of May’s quiet voice from the other room and Trip’s lower response. In minutes they returned, with Trip supporting Grant with May close behind. Grant’s head drooped forward limply. The tensing of his shoulders as they neared the others was the only sign he gave to being conscious. “Is he –?” Skye broke off not quite sure what she wanted to ask.

May ignored the question and led them from the room into the hallway, “Time to go.” Her expression left no room for argument – not that any of the others would have. Cold hard professionalism blocked out everything else.

They were met at the docks by a group of soldiers just returning to the underwater base with new captives. Fitz, Simmons, and another agent Grant didn’t know were forced to their knees as the rescue team came into view. Garrett leaned casually against the wall. He grinned widely when he saw them, “Well now, have all the guests arrived for the party?”

“Garrett,” Coulson responded. “You didn’t stay dead, I see. Crazy as ever?”

“You haven’t been enlightened yet?” Garrett straightened and came towards them. “Now drop your weapons and hand Grant over before my men turn your team into Swiss cheese.”

“Garrett. I have to –” his voice weak, Grant raised his head and struggled to pull away from Trip as Coulson and Garrett continued back and forth. The rising panic was clear in his features. Trip was rapidly losing his grasp on the injured man; afraid he would cause more damage. There was a commotion behind them and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents found themselves surrounded.

Turning towards Grant, Garrett reached out his hand, “Come on, Grant, I won’t let them throw you back in that dark hole again. I can still teach you to be strong.”

Skye’s affronted voice sounded behind him, “We’re not the ones that had him tortured!”

Grant winced despite himself, but kept his gaze locked firmly on the ground in front of him. He was starting to feel like it was a game of tug-a-war and he was the rope being stretch tight. If one side didn’t hurry up and win the game, he was likely to break, if he wasn’t already broken. He didn’t know which side he wanted to win.

Garrett stilled and all his warmth dissipated into a hard coldness. Even Skye fell silent at the dangerous tension radiating from him. “Is that what you think too, Grant? That I had you tortured?” His pause didn’t leave Grant enough time to respond. “I told you, I would make you stronger, and I will, but these things take time. You know that, right?”

“Yes, sir,” the answer was almost inaudible.

Closing the distance between them, Garrett’s grin returned. “It’s time to purge your weakness,” he whispered into his ear. Trip tensed beside him as Garrett pressed the combat knife into Grant’s hand.

For a moment, Grant just stared down at the weapon, while beside him Trip radiated anger. He lifted his head and caught sight of the captured agents in front of him. Simmons and the agent kneeling beside her seemed angrier than anything else, while Fitz showed a mixture of fear, anger, sadness, and surprisingly, hope. It was that hope directed straight at him that confused Grant. This was Fitz, who he had almost killed, looking to him with hope in his eyes.

It was almost a shock when he caught sight of his own haggard features beside Garrett’s smug ones reflected back at him from the window of a submarine behind them. There was something in Garrett’s expression Grant had never noticed before, but now that he saw it, it seemed it had always been there. He couldn’t put words to it, but he suddenly knew that he was nothing Garrett, just a means to an end, a useful tool. A flash of movement in the reflection caught his eye, but Grant forced himself not to react. He adjusted his grip on the knife handle, jerked away from Trip, and sprang into action at the same time that Mack leapt from the shadows, guns flashing with killer accuracy.

The sharp knife met no resistance from the soft flesh, but it wasn’t enough. The slice on Garrett’s neck was only superficial, while the rage was deadly. A sharp jab to his ribs and a kick to his broken leg and Grant collapsed, still swinging. Red clouded his vision, but he could hear the fight still raging on. The S.H.I.E.L.D. team had immediately taken advantage of the surprise distraction Grant had provided. He kicked with his good leg and stabbed a Hydra agent that got too close before he could recover.

A black boot stomped down and held Grant’s arm painfully in place against the floor, while the knife was wrenched from his grip. “I’m disappointed in you, Grant,” Garrett’s voice told him. “I thought you had vision.” Roughly Grant was jerked up to his feet and the knife pressed painfully against his face.

“Garrett,” Coulson had his gun aimed steadily at them. “You killing your own men now?”

Clicking his tongue at the S.H.I.E.L.D. director, Garrett answered, “When a dog turns on its master, you put it down.” A trail of blood dripped down Grant’s cheek as the knife point broke the skin. He wished one of them would just get it over with and put him out of his misery, but Garrett wanted him punished and Coulson, for some inexplicable reason, if he could he would try to keep Grant alive.

Coulson shook his head, “He’s more like a cornered wild animal striking out to protect itself than an attack dog turning on its master. If you back away and leave it alone, the wild animal won’t attack.”

Garrett laughed and dug the knife in deeper.

“He’s of no further use to you,” Coulson continued. “Let us have him instead.”

“Surrender and I’ll let him have a quick death, instead of the long drawn out one he deserves. My man over there still thinks there’s a lot he could teach Grant about pain. If I let him, he could drag it out for years.”

Grant shuddered as he looked past Coulson and caught sight of one of the goons from the room approaching them. The knife now seemed unimportant and his elbow collided violently with Garrett’s gut. He no longer felt the sting of the blade; he only knew he could spend no more time with the torturer. It was escape or death. It gave Coulson the opening he needed; Garrett fell with two bullet holes in the middle of his forehead. Frantically Grant scuttled backwards.

Thanks to May the advancing soldier already had a bleeding gash from his cheek to his temple. Even as bullets fired and fists connected all around him, Grant only saw the one soldier. It was tunnel vision straight to a nightmare. He didn’t see Coulson dodging the lethal pounce or Trip sagging as the bullet ripped into his shoulder or May ruthlessly snapping the neck of her opponent or Fitz saving Simmons and Skye from the unseen attacker creeping up behind them, only the brute quickly closing the distance between them.

He felt the smooth, cold handle of a fallen gun as a firm grip on his hair brutally dragged him to his feet. Blindly, Grant swung the gun in front of him and fired. There was a howl as he dropped with a thud back to the floor, but he kept firing. Coulson was suddenly by his side pulling the empty gun from his trembling fingers. Hurriedly the director half helped, half dragged Grant towards the far wall, calling to someone behind them.

“Hurry up!” Mack’s voice called from in front of them. “The seal is giving!” Grant was vaguely aware of a broken opening in the outer wall, steadily seeping an increasing flow of water. Outside another vessel was pressed up against the underwater base. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents broke away from their Hydra opponents and crammed into the ship as the seal gave more and more.

Slamming their door shut, Mack cut off the sounds of the soldiers behind them. “We’re good,” he called up to May, who had already settled into the driver’s seat, and then the vessel lurched into motion. Out the side window they could see the gushing water demolishing the underwater structure they had just left behind.

Only then, in the stillness that followed did reality start to set in. Grant had turned on Garrett. It wasn’t just his hands shaking. His whole body was quivering. He felt sick and gagged. Simmons was there murmuring soothingly in his ear. Garrett had given him everything, rescued him from the hell that his life had been and how had he repaid him? By trying to slash his throat. “Garrett’s going to be mad,” he whispered to Coulson as the other man sat next to him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Coulson replied patting his shoulder reassuringly. Grant flinched involuntarily, but the other man simply leaned back and said, “Just relax and let Jemma take care of you. Don’t worry about Garrett.”

Simmons was already fussing over his various injuries, absently flinging orders to Mack who had just finished bandaging Skye’s wrists and Trip’s shoulder. Just behind May, Fitz settled into the empty seat, his eyes, like that of a frightened animal, never left Grant, with Trip seated on the bench on the adjacent wall and Skye and Hunter, the new agent, opposite of them. Grant was seated at the back of the small vessel with Coulson close by. Warily, he allowed himself to give into his exhaustion and pain and slid into the peace of oblivion.

Grant remained oblivious to the rest of their uneventful trip to their new base. The hushed murmur of voices and the steady whirring of machinery was only insignificant background noise. Even as the smooth motion of the water jolted into the jerkier movements of the hidden underground tunnel, he lingered in unconsciousness.

*****

“Phil,” May caught the director’s attention as Simmons hurried her injured patients into the medical ward. Hunter and Mack were helping move Trip and Grant from the vessel. Grant had begun to stir again, and she wanted to drug him quickly so she could finish treating him. Skye had gone off to get herself cleaned up, while Fitz hovered uncertainly in the background. “In that room,” May didn’t need to specify which room she was referring to, “It was bad.”

Coulson nodded, “On our way back, Skye told me some of what happened there. She’s his weakness; Garrett wanted him to get rid of that weakness.”

“It’s worse than that. It looked like they had used every type of torture they could to break him, beatings, sexual, physiological, sleep deprivation, sensory deprivation. They were brutalizing him when we got there… it didn’t help that he was already broken to begin with.”

A sharp look and Coulson replied, “He’s still a traitor and a criminal. We can’t just let him wander around free, but…” He stopped trying to form his thought. There seemed to be no good solution. One way put his team in danger and the other could cause even more harm to an already abused and tortured man.

For a moment they just stood in silence, each searching for a reasonable solution. Neither one was ready to forgive their former teammate, but still neither was quite willing to just leave him to his doomed fate. It didn’t seem right.

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” May finally countered. “Once Ward’s healed enough to come off bed rest, we’ll decide our next move.”

*****

The first thing he became aware of was a soft murmuring. He felt like he was engulfed in a warm cocoon muting everything around him. His eyes blinked open lazily. The dim room was unfamiliar, and his training screamed at him that it was never a good thing to wake up in an unfamiliar location, but he couldn't trouble himself enough to care.

Grant just lay there for a time, not thinking, just existing. As gradually the fog in his brain started to clear and his surroundings came into focus, the murmuring strengthened into a few familiar voices. Simmons was having a lively discussion with Skye about something. What exactly it was about escaped Grant.

His throat tightened and his breathing grew shallow. Grant tried to move away from them, but the straps held him down. The panic grew. He couldn't get enough air and red crept in around his vision. He thrashed vainly. The steady beeping sped up and the voices rose in concern. He was vaguely aware that they were calling his name. He couldn't do it. He needed to get out.

Suddenly there were hands pressed against his cheeks holding him still and a face just inches above his. “Ward,” May’s voice cut through. “You don’t need to. We won’t make you.” His frantic apologies faded as his eyes clung to hers hardly able to believe it was true. Once his movements had calmed, the hands withdrew from his face, but she stayed by his side as Simmons fussed over him to make sure none of his wounds had reopened.

“Weakness…” Grant strained out. It was still hard to breath.

“It’s not a weakness,” May replied firmly.

Grant gave her a disbelieving look but didn’t try to say anything else. He wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He saw her shake her head subtly as someone across the room, but he didn’t dare look to see who. Instead he kept his tired eyes on May.

Content that Grant hadn’t done his body any more damage, Simmons smiled at him just almost warmly and abruptly turned away, heading towards the silent person across the room. Quiet whispers were muted as their footsteps faded away. May stayed by his side until he slipped once more into unconsciousness.

The next time he woke up alone. It was easier this time coming out of the fog of sleep. His mind was clearer. Grant was still strapped down, so he methodically took in his surroundings the way he hadn’t been able to before. The walls were a sterile hospital white with a large window looking out into the lab next to the closed door. Fitz was alone in the lab, his back to the window. It looked like he was talking to someone, but whoever it was out of Grant’s line of sight.

As Fitz moved around and started to turn his direction, Grant turned his head to face the blank opposite wall. He didn’t want to see the anger or betrayal in the engineer’s eyes, or worse, the forgiveness. It wasn’t something he deserved, so he couldn’t allow himself to even hope for it.

Grant lay there staring at the wall just thinking for a long time. Was a bullet really enough to kill Garrett? The last time he though the man was dead, he had been proven completely wrong. But if Garrett was alive, did he really want to go back to his former mentor? Remembering the torture, Grant shuddered. It was worse than anything his brother had ever put him through. Why would man he had thought of as a father allow that to happen to him? Did the other man really save him from one prison only to send him to another? Did he owe Garrett enough to account for the torture? Did he really need to remain loyal him? All Grant had to do to prove himself was to kill Skye, and then Garrett would take him back and teach him to be stronger without the weakness. But even if she did hate him and think him the lowest of the low, could he really kill Skye?

S.H.I.E.L.D. would just want what little information Grant had on Hydra so they could lock him up and forget about him. May and Coulson saw him as a traitor, Skye thought he was a weak, disgusting monster, Simmons felt that he was beneath her, and Fitz – well the last time he talked to Fitz he was in denial, but then Grant had dropped him out of an airplane. If he didn’t realize the truth before, surely Fitz realized it now. No, there was no future for him with S.H.I.E.L.D.

What other option did he have? Break out and live life on the run apart from either agency? Grant snorted at that thought. Why, what would be point? Since he was a teenager spy work was all he’d ever known. He wouldn’t know how to have a “normal” life. With no hope of a future, he didn’t know what to do or think. Grant Ward was lost.

Grant tensed as the door creaked open but didn’t look to see who it was. It didn’t matter anyway. The soft footsteps had him guessing it was Simmons. A chair creaked as the person settled into it and then silence. In his surprise that she wasn’t checking his wounds or IV, Grant forgot that he didn’t want to know who it was and turned his head towards his visitor and froze. Skye sat looking back at him. His heart pounded. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened. Grant tried to bite back the panic that threatened to overtake him, but all he could hear was her words of disgust and Garrett’s urging him to “remove” his weakness.

“I’m sorry, Grant,” Skye started. She reached for him but dropped her hands when he flinched away from her. She looked inexplicably sad. It made him long to reassure her that everything would be alright, but he found he couldn’t move, much less speak words of comfort. Skye settled back into the chair, “I don’t know what all they did to you…and I know I’ve said some pretty mean things to you in the past, but I want you to know that I’m sorry for what I’ve said, and – well, I’m not going to give up on you.”

He heard her words but couldn’t focus on them. The panic was too strong. Grant choked back the bile that rose in his throat and pushed himself as far from her as he could. Closing his eyes, he turned away from her, trying to pretend it wasn’t her sitting there. Instead of leaving, Skye resumed speaking, “Jemma is getting ready to leave…to go out on an assignment. I’m not sure that’s the best idea, but she thinks it’s what Fitz needs.” She continued on rattling off more details and updates on the rest of the team. Occasionally she would pause as if waiting for some response or indication he was listening, before resuming her monologue.

It wasn’t until Simmons actually came to check on him that Skye left. “Skye,” her voice was chastising. “He’s not ready.”

“He’ll never be ready if I just leave him alone,” was the response, but Grant heard Skye get up anyway and leave.

He felt his muscles relax and peeked his eyes open to glance over at Simmons. She looked burdened and weary she never had before as she watched the other woman go. With a sigh, she turned toward Grant and caught him watching her. Smiling at him, Simmons began her check. “I know Dr. Hughes can do this,” she informed him, “but it makes me feel better to see that you’re healing. Now you have to get plenty of rest while I’m away and do everything you can to get better.” Unlike Skye, she never waited for or looked for any response from him, just kept prattling on as she worked. “Don’t try to get up too soon and be patient with yourself. That’s the hardest part…being patient with yourself. It’s what Fitz–” here she cut herself off. Swallowing harshly, she pasted a falsely bright smile on her face and went back to fussing over him.

“I’m sorry,” her hands stilled as Grant grazed her wrist with his touch. His faint voice was rough from pain and disuse.  
Simmons pulled back from him and just stood there, shoulders shuddering and tears running down her face, but instead of refusing his apology, like Grant expected, she smiled at him as she wiped the tears from her face. “I know,” she patted his arm and turned to his IV. “Now, I think it’s time for another dose of your pain medication. Your last dosage must have worn off ages ago.” It had, but Grant hadn’t wanted to ask for more. He wasn’t sure which reason was stronger, feeling he deserved the pain, or not wanting to admit that he had any more weaknesses. Either way, he felt immensely grateful to Jemma as the medicine kicked in and he drifted off to sleep.

*****

Grant felt the tightening of his chest, the pounding panic in his ears, and the rising bile before he even realized he was waking up. His muscles were tense with anxiety. As he struggled to roll over on to his side, he heard Skye’s voice just outside the door arguing heatedly. “I won’t hurt him! I just want him to know he’s not alone.”

May’s composed, authoritative voice cut in before Skye could say more, “Skye, he needs rest.” Even as he threw up over the edge of the bed, Grant could feel himself relaxing. If May was there, she would keep things under control. Skye said more, but Grant didn’t pay any more attention to her words or to May’s firm responses. For a while he just lay at the awkward angle he had pulled himself into as he got his breathing back under control, until he heard the door click softly shut blocking out the sound of Skye’s voice.

“Ward?”

Slowly, Grant rolled himself away from the edge of the bed, off his sore arm, and onto his back again. Cautiously he looked towards Coulson. He said nothing to the new director, just watched him warily. Coulson didn’t say anything else. He simply made his was over to the injured man and helped him rearrange himself so there wasn’t strain on his injuries anymore. Grant struggled to hide the fear that threatened to overwhelm him when the other man touched him, but Coulson’s expression still grew sad. He completed his task and left Grant alone once more. Dr. Hughes came in not long after to clean the floor and administer another dosage of medication. Grant gratefully slipped blissfully back into unconsciousness.

After that, Grant still caught Skye looking in on him through the window, but she never entered the room. And, surprisingly, the restraints came off. This, and the guard posted outside the door, led him to the assumption that the door must be kept locked and Skye was not granted a key.

As Grant became more aware and awake for longer and longer times the more difficult his recovery became. The flashes of panic when anyone approached him caused more than one bruised and bloodied face. Guiltily he tried to squelch his new fear of being touched but continued to fail. All he could see were the hands reaching towards him and with them came the phantom touches that brought nothing but agonizing pain. When the restraints were used, it only made it worse.

It was Fitz that made the first progress. Mack and Hunter were straining to hold Grant’s arms still as Dr. Hughes was trying vainly to sedate their struggling patient. His breath was shallow, and heartbeat hammered in his ears. All Grant knew was that he had to get away. Fitz slipped in through the open door and pushed himself between the injured man and the other three.

“Ward!” Fitz called shoeing the others back. At first there seemed to be no difference, but then Grant locked eyes with the engineer. The panic faded from his eyes, replaced with guilty remorse and his jerky struggles subsided. “No one’s going to – to…yes, touch you.”

Grant looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

“Dr. Hughes needs to…”

“Change the bandages,” the doctor supplied the sedative ready to be administered still in his hands, not quite believing it wouldn’t be needed. Mack looked relieved to have relinquished his hold while Hunter kept his face unreadable.

Grant stiffened involuntarily, the panic creeping back into his features. “Please –” abruptly, he cut himself off, looking away ashamedly. His feelings of undeserving warred with his desire to not be touched.

“Would it be better if…if…Skye –” an unsteady hitch in Grant’s breathing at the name and Fitz changed his suggestion immediately. “Then May it is. What if May changed your bandages?”

“Would she?” was the hopeful timid question. Mack wasted no time in finding the female agent. The others barely had time to react before he reappeared with May in tow and Coulson following curiously behind. Coulson watched from outside the room while, Hunter and Mack backed out to join him and Skye kept carefully out of Grant’s sight.

Clinically, May followed the doctor’s careful instructions. Fitz stayed right next to the bed, occasionally offering a word of encouragement without making any move to touch the other man. Grant’s eyes clung to Fitz’s face, wondering how the engineer could stand to be near him. Why were any of them concerning themselves with Grant? It was his fault Fitz was in the condition he was in. It was his fault the Fridge had fallen, that Agent Hand and Agent Koenig and countless other agents were dead. It was all his fault for being weak.

“Ward,” May’s voice pulled him back to the present. She had finished her task and Dr. Hughes had silently stepped out of the room. When she was sure he was listening, she continued, “You didn’t deserve this torture. You didn’t deserve what Garrett did to you.”

He wanted to believe her, but Garrett’s words flooded back to him. “I’m weak,” Grant disagreed. “He was…making me stronger.” It was almost a question.

“No,” May firmly stated, “You were already strong.” She kept her gaze steady, locked with Grant’s, making the conviction plainly visible in her eyes. She reached forward and squeezed his hand in a very un-May-like gesture of sympathy. He didn’t know what to make of it.

Cautiously Grant turned his gaze towards Fitz, who still hovered just behind his shoulder, and to his surprise, the engineer returned his look with confident agreement. How could Fitz possibly agree with May’s assessment? Especially after Grant’s betrayal. He wanted to apologize for all the wrong he had done them and at the same time accept this strange, undeserved comfort May and Fitz were offering him. But instead Grant simply asked, “Why don’t you hate me?”

Fitz shrugged, “You’re our friend.”

“Your betrayal hurt us, yes, but,” May paused, her eyes glinting suspiciously wet, “but we still care about you.”

“Never had friends before…” Grant mumbled embarrassed. He started looked away, ashamed, but caught himself and turned back to May and Fitz. “Be patient with me?” he asked sincerely.

“Of course. Now rest, you need it.” Grant nodded and relaxed, allowing his tired body to follow May’s advice. From then on, Fitz or May were never far away when Grant awoke, and May always came with Dr. Hughes for his visits. The panic still came, but her presence would calm it. The few times even Agent May wasn’t enough to fight off the panic, Fitz would immediately chase away the offending party. Once it was an overhead conversation just outside the room about weaknesses. Another time it was Skye, loudly arguing in the lab. And still another time it was Trip, his arm still in a sling, checking in on Grant. They always assured Grant afterwards that they didn’t blame him, but the guilt still bore heavily on him.

*****

“Coulson?” Grant’s rough voice pulled May out of the report she was reading. She had made it her habit to review her paperwork there in the chair by his bed while he slept. She glanced up to see Grant looking across the room to where Coulson stood in the doorway. It wasn’t often anyone managed to sneak up on her and the director had very nearly managed it. “Is he really dead?”

Coulson appeared startled for a moment, before a small, comforting smile formed on his face, “Yes. After we left and the base collapsed, I had some friends go in and recover all the bodies. Garrett’s body is still in the morgue with the others if you need to see it for yourself.”

Shuddering slightly, Grant shifted uncomfortably in the bed and looked down at his hands. “He was like a father to me,” he admitted quietly. “Why –” a harsh swallow and he continued, the raw pain evident in his voice, “how could…how could he let them do that to me?”

Coulson had no answer for him. He didn’t understand it either.

May leaned forward. She squeezed Grant’s shoulder and said fiercely, “We will never put you through anything like that. You don’t deserve that.”

Grant returned her gaze, a hint of surprise coloring his expression. He didn’t quite believe her, but instead softly confessed, “I want to be better. I want to be…good.” And then, almost shyly, he turned back to Coulson, “Will you help me?”

“Of course. And not just me, the whole team is here for you.”

It was a turning point in his recovery. The panic attacks came less often and less severely. Grant grew able to tolerate more than just May’s touch, and, on good days, Skye was allowed to visit him. He still found himself perpetually tense when she was near, but he was no longer immediately swallowed up by the panic. They still didn’t have answer of what Grant’s ultimate fate would be, but it seemed that for the first time since they had met him – maybe even the first time in his life – Grant was able to decide who he wanted to be.

In some ways it was like getting to know a completely new person, but there were aspects of his personality that they remembered from before that were shining back through this new skin. Grant was no longer just a tool to be used or a chameleon to hide in plain sight, but he was growing into his own person. He was learning to be strong for himself, to live a life not dictated by Garrett or anyone else’s demands. Even as a prisoner, for the first time in his life, Grant Ward was free.


End file.
